To Hell And Back - Phan
by TD0ggie
Summary: "But wishes, those are supposed to be answered by God, or angels, right?" I ask, gazing around the cathedral-like room. "Yeah," he answers, bowing his head to run his fingers through his hair, "but I guess sometimes heaven has to take a day off. Either way, I can't send you back. Sorry, I guess, you don't get your angel." Quietly, I say, "I'm not so sure about that."
1. (Stereotypical Disney Opening)

_**"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you. Except they don't, because they're flaming balls of chemical combustion that render your existence ultimately meaningless."**_

"I wonder if they're gonna fuck," she says, absentmindedly staring at a passing couple headed into the bedroom down the hall. Music blares around us, and lights flash all along the ceiling, spreading the hectic atmosphere.

A drunken giggle reaches my ears, and the girl slumped against my side gazes up at me with a wide smile and dull eyes, and despite the fact that I really ought to help her to the bathroom before she covers me with the insides of her dinner and the last four beers she's had, I can't help but recoil slightly. There's gum plastered across her hair, and she lets out another sudden burst of slurred laughter, twirling her hair around her fingers. I fold my hands tightly in my lap, and pull my arms a little closer to my body. She slips her arms around my shoulders, and I can smell the liquor as she breathes down my neck. She sighs, brushing a stray hair from my forehead, she says, "You what would be really stupid, right now? We should make out, like, literally right now."

I attempt to extricate myself from her arms, unsure of how to respond, and she looks up at me expectantly, "Come on, make out, let's."

I smile nervously at her, anxious to leave this painfully awkward situation, but she traces my leg with her fingers, "You know, you're kinda skinny..." She giggles again, sighing again and leaning back against the armrest of the couch, "I think it's... I think it's really cute!" She laughs even harder, spilling a little of her fifth beer over my jeans. I wince slightly; These are new. She throws her head back, turning to look at me, "Hmmm, well, is it going to happen or not?"

I try and stand, but her legs are still draped over mine, "Come on, just this one time. I don't even really know you, but really, just tonight? Mmmh?" I draw my head back slightly, pursing my lips a little, "Um, yeah, I don't think-"

"Because honestly, you're like, really hot." she starts to lean slightly towards me again, "You know that? You're really, really hot." She giggles yet again, raising her eyebrows at me. Uncomfortable with her being this close, I untangle our legs and stand slowly, using the coffee table for support, "Listen, uh, what's your name, Britney, I, I uh-"

She shifts into a sitting position, "Yeah, my name's really not Britney."

Oh. I smile painfully, trying to remember her name, "Ashley?"

She looks at me, embarrassed, and raises her eyebrows, "Lindsey. You were close, though! It's all the 'eeh's and the 'ah's and the 'ooh's."

She's clearly intoxicate, so I scratch my head, looking around the room, "Listen, Lindsey, you're really great, but I just... I'm just not really ready for-"

"Oh no, this isn't one of those relationship kinds of things, I'm just talking about sex right now." Before I know it, she's stood up and we're inches apart, she's breathing on me again. I hate it when people breathe on me, it makes me feel uncomfortable close to them, I've always hated it when people do that.

"You know, it's late, we're at a party, can't you just..." She gestures vaguely into the air, "Let go for a little?"

She tries to wrap her arms around me again, but I step back, "Listen," I say, "Lindsey, please, I really don't want to-"

She buries her head in my chest, sighing into my shirt, "Mm? Come on, just a little, don't be such a little bitch, Phil, come on." She brings her hands around my neck and pulls me towards her, but I really don't want this, she's starting to scare me a little, "No, really, please. I'm alright, please just leave me alo-"

As I try to back away, she follows me, arms around my shoulders and inches away from me, "But you're so..." she fumbles around in her head for the word, "pretty, you're really fucking pretty, you know that? Come on, just let me have a little taste."

I stumble backwards, trying to escape her grip, "No, stop it! Let me go!" I manage to wrestle my way out of her arms and I slip away, moving as fast as I can away from her. In the background I hear her whine, her voice facing slightly as I stride away, "Oh, don't be like that! Stop being such a baby, I was only looking for a kiss!"

Breathing heavily, I flatten myself against the wall near the sliding patio door, trying to ease my heartbeat. Just to be absolutely confident, I check to make sure she's not following me, and I'm a little more relived than I care to admit to see that she's draped herself all over some other guy sitting in the leather armchair. I pull open the patio door, eager to get some fresh air and to escape the stuffy, overcrowded atmosphere. To be honest, I don't even know why I decided to come here, I don't even like house parties at all, they make me so nervous. The friend I came with (or rather, forced me to go by consistently bugging me, Robin, is currently red faced, drunk, laughing his ass off in the kitchen while playing a drinking game with his friends, and completely and utterly ignoring me. I don't have very good taste in friends, but then again, I shouldn't complain. I'd do the same thing if I was friends with me, probably.

I slip through the open patio door, and run to the railing, looking out at the valley. It's really quite an expensive house, I think while tapping my fingers against the aluminum railing. It's one of those railings where the top is metal and the entire rest is glass, making it look like it's jumped right out at me from the pages of a real estate magazine. The sun's gone down ages ago, and I can see the dull blur of the horizon, barely contrasting against the ashen sky. The wind ruffles my hair slightly, and suddenly I get this twisty feeling in my stomach, I realize the true extent of how lonely I am. Look at me, being all dramatic, wouldn't Mother be so proud. I smile, letting my head fall down a little, I wish I could be anywhere but here.

You know, I don't think any of my 'friends' like me, not really. I'm always that one person that no one invites, I'm the 'don't let him hear about the party, but don't tell him he can't come, I don't want him to think we don't like him. We don't though, really.' I'm the 'oh, we don't have enough money for all the movie tickets... would you mind waiting outside for us, Phil?'. I'm the 'oops, we forgot to tell you, sorry about that...'

I'm the one that has to walk behind the others on the sidewalk, the one that nobody invites out, the one that always ends up texting first, doing homework in return for friendship, fetching books from empty classrooms and coming back to find that they've all left. I'm the last invitation to the party, the one that's bent enough from being sit on four times and all stained from coffee and so beaten up that they were too embarrassed to send it to anyone else, I'm the 3am call to please pick me up because everyone else is asleep. I'm the ugly prom date senior year that one of the girls asked because her friends wouldn't stop teasing her and she was fed up, I'm the joke that no one laughs at, and as I stand here leaning against this railing, all I can think is that I'm so fucking lonely.

A girl, someone I don't know with dyed blonde streaks, tattoos, and eyeliner thick enough to rival Pete Wentz walks out onto the patio, smoking a cigarette. I turn to look at her, frowning at the smoke drifting up into the sky.

"You know those things will kill you, right?" I say casually, gesturing to the cancer stick dangling from her lips. She takes it out of her mouth and looks at me, her eyes raking up and down my body. Without saying anything, she puts it back in her mouth, puffing a little cloud that drifts above my head. How fitting. She smiles at me through the cigarette, "I know." She smiles even wider, and fishes around in the pockets of her ripped jeans. Eventually, she pulls out a whole box of marlboro, making quite a show of pulling one out and offering it to me, "Want one?"

I wrinkle my nose at the thing, no, I don't want to smoke, no thank you, I wouldn't mind dying too much, but it's a really fucking dumb way to go. She raises her eyebrows,"You sure?" but I shake my head again and she laughs, coming to lean beside me against the railing.

"You know, you're smart, being out here, there's a terrible mess inside. Some of the freshmen decided to make this whole satanic ritual thing on the carpet, there's this entire pentagram burned into the floor now." She takes another long drag of her cigarette, twirling the smoke in the air, "Fucking college, man, whoo." she laughs again, "I'm telling you, it really sucks to be whoever's house this is. You sure you don't want one?" she nods to the pack of cigs again, but I shake my head, and she heads back inside, still puffing on that stick of hers.

I sigh, and stare up at the sky, I wonder if the stars get lonely too. All alone, millions of miles apart and no way to talk. This is, of course, assuming that stars can talk. Jesus, this metaphor is getting old quickly. Is it a metaphor? Oh, fuck it, whatever it is.

I'm gazing up at the stars and I remember, there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I'd forgotten, not that I really care about it that much. I sigh and drag a folding chair over from the wall, setting it up against the railing to watch. Sure enough, the stars begin to drop as quickly as a just-announced Panic! At The Disco album, and I can't hell but notice one in particular, one that shines just a little duller than the others, just like me. That one. That one's mine.


	2. When You Wish Upon A Star

_**"When you wish upon a star, you're a million years too late. That star is dead, and so are your dreams."**_

It only takes minute for the rest of the patio to fill up with drunken laughter, people lined all up and down the railing. A girl spills her drink all over her hair, shaking it out into the night, and giggles erupt all around her. I nudge my chair back a little, trying to avoid my jeans from being caught in any more alcohol tonight. Laughter surrounds me, and I stare back up at the star, my star waiting for it to fall so I can make my wish. It's taking long enough, and honestly I am quite frankly annoyed because who does it think it is? There's a lonely someone here that desperately needs a wish and it's just hanging around! I mean, I understand that it might be tired from shining for all those years, but come on man, I really need this right now!

I sigh and sink into my chair, and everyone is calling out their stars, "I call that one! That one, that one's mine!" but as far as I can see, nobody has claimed mine. Claimed, what a stupid way to think, you can't 'claim' a star, but you can bet that if someone tried to, I sure as hell would make them back off. You can't 'claim' a star, but yeah, that one's mine.

Look at me, getting all protective over a star, silly little Phil, all caught up in things that don't matter. Except it does. Well, it really doesn't, but it does, at the same time, does that make sense?

I shake my head, oh how dramatic, I can see it now, my life's biography, no. 1 New York Times bestseller.

"At nineteen years old, Phil was at a party one night, and decided to wish upon a star, because fuck you Disney and your unrealistic standards of magic."

Besides, mine is a little duller than the others, shining far away. Maybe it's not even a real star, maybe it won't fall after all. Shit, maybe it's actually Mars or something? Did I really just do that? What if I actually tried to make a wish on fucking Mars, Jesus Christ man, I'm telling you.

The minutes slide by, and soon enough I'm the only one out there, everyone else is back inside, having watched their stars plummet to the ground sometime or another. I look up at the star, and I think hey, it's just you and me now.

Like it would answer.

Five minutes later, it's still hanging out up there, so I mentally berate it. You think this is funny? I have places to be, come on, get down here so I can make a wish. Fucking rude.

Another two minutes pass. Crickets chirp in the background like a sitcom from the 90s.

Alright, I see how it is. I get it, so you know what? I'm going to wish on you right now. You know what I want most?

I pause here, thinking for a moment. I want a lot of things, and choosing just one is harder than you'd think.

You know what I want most? I repeat, I want someone to talk to. Look around me, look at all these people, I am surrounded, but I'm so fucking lonely. I like being alone, but I don't like being lonely, I see all these people around me with their friends and lovers and I want that. I want someone to talk to, someone to be my friend, I want that more than anything. Bring me a friend. Please.

It doesn't do anything, it just sits there perched in the sky and shines down at me, a little stronger now that the clouds have cleared some. It feels like it's laughing at me. I sit, waiting for a sign or some shit, staring up at it until my eyes start to burn a little from not blinking.

Fuck you, then.

My eyes sting a little, and I close the patio door a little harsher than needed on my way in. Oh, clever Phil, look at me, thinking a star was going to talk to me. I stalk through the house and push open the front door, someone has drawn a penis on it in permanent marker. I mean, Jesus, I knew that I was getting a little more depressed and cloudy than normal, but to the extent of actually expecting it to talk back? Get out of here, honestly, I need to sleep or some shit because I am so tired and confused, I don't even know myself at this point.

I jog down the hill to where I parked my car, and open the door, sliding into the driver's seat and shivering a little. The seat is almost freezing, and I haven't started the heating. These are the downsides of having leather in your car.

The engine revs a little before starting up, and by the time I reach the highway, I'm flooring it. It's only around one or two in the morning, so nobody is there, and I don't care. So what if I'm going twenty miles past the speed limit? So what if I crash, or some shit, it's not like there would be anyone to miss me. I don't have friends and I'm relatively distant from my family, so why the fuck not?

I slide open the sun roof and let the frigid air rush in, tousling my hair and wasting all of the heated air conditioning. I don't care. I don't have to care, who's going to make me?

I'm going far too fast now, but it's too late to stop, it's too late to care, it's too late to give a fuck, and I don't. I don't and the wind is running through my hair, and I can feel the ocean in my ears, and I am ecstatic. I am the fastest thing in the world, the only thing that exists.

It's just me out here. Just me and the wind in my hair and the stars in my eyes.

Alone out here in the quiet, streaking down a road at ninety-seven miles an hour.

Not going to be able to slow down enough to make that turn.

Probably going to be a smoldering wreck of a person buried underneath a mass of smoking twisted metal in a little under thirty seconds.

Oh.

Okay.

There's no point even trying to slow down, it's one of those sharp turns, the kind you get on road trips to ski up in the mountains with your family. There's no way I can make it, and I don't care, I keep on going, I will not let them take this moment from me, I am alive.

Five seconds to impact.

I wonder if anyone will miss me. I'm one of those average-Joe kind of people that nobody really likes. They tell you 'say goodbye to your loved ones' but really, I just have 'tolerated ones'.

Four seconds to impact.

On my gravestone, all spelled out in pretty letters will be the words, "Phil Lester, beloved by none and tolerated by all. His legacy will live on for the next month, and then we will all forget."

Three seconds to impact.

How do you like me now, Star? Are you going to pay attention to me now? Am I finally important? Is this what it takes to get someone out there to notice me?

Two seconds to impact.

A line from a book that I read once flashes through my mind, 'Prepare to evacuate soul in ten...'

Everything is slowing down now, like I'm trudging through molasses. I can see my death unfolded before me in the form of a highway edge and it's terrible and exhilarating and magnificent all at once. The hood of my car will crumple against the concrete, folding in on itself and collapsing. I'll follow suit shortly afterwards.

It will be so very grand, with the plumes of smoke and the screeches and the sound of crunching metal.

The hood of the car is feet from collision, and it's hurling towards me so fast that I can barely see as I skid over the edge of the road, about to hit the barrier.

I'm so close to dying I can taste it, and it tastes like victory.

Victory and pina coladas.

My eyes are wide open and I can see the barrier about to collide with my car, and the last thing I remember thinking is perhaps I had one too many cocktails.

Author's Note: Hey hey happy_ending_howell so I know you're not doing so well so this chapter is for you 3 hang in there kid. Anyways I quite like this fic but I'll keep writing Pretty Boy too, but yeah thanks for the support comment/votes are appreciated, blahblah blah, etc. Hope you all are doing well! Love you all, hope your week is great, and also Veteran's day is soon so have a nice day off, treat yourself! (Sorry I'm very emotional i have just listened to mr brightside i am so in love with it deliver me from this perfection)


	3. It Fucking Dies (And So Do You)

_HO HO HO, MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS AND PREPARE FOR SOME PLOT DEVELOPMENT AW YISS_

 _ **"On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero."**_

Everything is bright, and I can't see because my eyes have decided, to their own convenience, not to adjust properly. I rub them briefly and blink a few more times, trying to get used to my surroundings. I'm sitting on the floor of a white plane that seems to expand endlessly on every directions, and there's a dark shaprrre standing in front of me, kneeling over me. The floor is chilling and smooth, and it all feels very science fictiony, as there is no actual visible light source. The first thing that comes to mind is, of course, Panic! At The Disco's This Is Gospel music video, and for a moment all I can think is 'Holy shit, is that Brendon Urie?'

Most unfortunately, it is not Brendon Urie and fine-ass snazzy red suit, but instead a thin young man with a slender face and a motorcycle jacket that doesn't quite suit his slight frame. I stare at him for a moment, trying to drink in his appearance, and I can't help but notice that his features feel slightly too perfect, like someone tried to chisel them and then left for coffee and never came back. He's all too symmetrical, and everything about him is tragic, and beautiful, and off. Everything is off. He blinks once at me, long lashes dragging through the air, and the chill of his eyes are enough to unsettle me. They're exactly like ice, crystallizing through his irises and piercing straight through mine, and they are the most beautiful things that I have ever seen.

Three seconds later, I snap back into reality: I haven't moved at all, I'm still splayed over the floor, and he's been looking at me for a good while. I'd quite like to melt just about now, and I think that I might under the heat of his gaze, or rather, the frost. Can one melt under frost? Probably not, but I'd still do it nonetheless. It's just now occurring to me that he's speaking to me, he's saying something but I can't... focus, I can't...

"Are you alright? Wake up, come on, come on, are you alright?"

I squint a little and everything fuzzes and blurs back into view. I have a devastatingly wonderful view of his lips from this angle, perfectly chiseled just like the rest of them, and he's starting to ease his hands on my shoulders. I push myself up into a sitting position and rub my eyes, looking up at him. Obviously, I say the most stereotypical and ordinary thing that's possible to say in this situation.

"Who...? Are you?"

I wince. That is a deeply played out and cringeworthy thing to say, but given my current situation I can safely say that I deserve to be allowed some slack. He bends down to offer me a hand up, displaying a row of perfectly white teeth in a smile as he says, "Oh, don't worry, that'll all make sense later. Soon enough, you'll see."

Well, that was a pretty shitty ass answer, so I ignore his hand, stumbling to my feet, and say, "No, I really want to know, now, what's going on."

I'm met with white noise as he gestures wordlessly at me to follow him through the seemingly endless white plane.

"What is this place anyways?" I ask, "It can't be real, this must be some sort of bizarre dream or hallucination, right?"

Without looking at me, he answers casually, "Yeah, I suppose you could say that. Dreams, hallucinations, doesn't mean it's not real though, does it?" He winks at me, swinging open a silver door that was quite clearly not there a few seconds prior. I gape at it a moment before rushing after him down a set of matching stairs that spiral down, topped with an extravagant ivory handrail. There's no apparent light source, again, but everything seems to be sufficiently lit.

The walls are smooth, polished stone, and I can hear our footsteps echo through the walls. I can't help but wonder what's on the other side of them. Looking around here, I'm suddenly very glad that I'm not claustrophobic.

We continue down the stairs for what feels like hours, each step of mine growing warier and wearier. The boy, whoever he is, never seems to tire, and doesn't slow down for me at all. Prick. His stamina never once wavers until, ages and ages later, I finally hear his footsteps even out on flat ground, the same kind of echoing stone as the walls. After a few seconds, however, the bounce of sound disappears and all of a sudden I can see the exit, bright and difficult to see through the gaps of view above his shoulders and on the sides of his head. That sound, I recognize that sound, I think, as I hear a slight soft crunching sound from beneath his feat ahead of me. It takes me a few moments to piece together, but the moment I do, my entire body stiffens. Grass.

I mean, what the fuck? What is grass going in this weird-ass alternate dimension who-knows-what god-forsaken place? I tap the boy's shoulder a little too roughly, insistent on getting answers, and he turns to raise his thin eyebrows at me.

"Come on, then, stop right there. Tell me, please, tell me what's going on."

He just looks at me, a look of faint amusement etched into his smile.

"Really. I want to know, just tell me! Why can't you tell me? Give me some answers!"

He shakes his head, smiling, and runs his fingers through curly brown hair that sits thick upon his head. We're almost to the open now, just before the exit, and I'm itching to get out of this small, pressing space.

"Trust me," he says, "trust me, I'll tell you everything in due time. First, though, we've got to get you up there." He moves aside slightly, and points into the distance at a hazy spire in the distance that sits atop what seems to be... No, that can't be right. I rub my eyes again, sure that my eyes haven't betrayed me just yet. Still, I am in utter shock as I look out at it, there is no possible valid explanation for this, it's just not... There's no way that-

"Pretty, isn't it?" He says, and I can't help but notice the particular way in which he enunciates his Ts. Exquisitely, as everything else about him.

I fumble over my words in an attempt to find an answer, stumbling in the language that he glides through so easily. "Yeah, it's, it's... What- What is it, exactly?"

It only takes me a second to realize the true stupidity of my question: It's obvious. "No, scratch that, I- I meant to say, how is it? How is it there? What is all of this, really? Is this some kind of alternate reality? Am I in some sort of coma, or-"

"No, no, nothing like that. Well, actually... It's, it's difficult to explain. Come, follow me, it'll all make sense in a little while." He loses his smile and gestures for me to take after him as he begins to walk through the doorway and into the ridiculously strange place, whatever it is.

Bracing myself for some sort of realization, anything, I push myself through it and after him, who's stopped for me a few feet from the entrance. I feel my shoes against the soft grass, pressing into the soles and making the ground uneven and plush. I reach him in a few strides, and he nods back at the door behind me.

"Look."

It may as well be the door that's not behind me, for all I see of it, because in the few short seconds that it's taken me to walk this far, it has entirely melted away into nothingness. In fact, it's not only the absence of the doorway that I find disturbing, but rather the entire wall, which has disappeared entirely, leaving me staring out at an open landscape, a few houses with smoke rising from their chimneys in the distance. I look back at him with wide eyes, there is no way that this is real.

"-What? How-? Where... where did it go?" 

He smirks, giving me a sympathetic look and saying only, "Away." before turning back and resuming his course. It's only now that I have time to shift from my bamboozled state of confusion from the door to truly look upon the sight before me. It's a lush plane of rolling hills, with far mountains at the end of my sightline that are capped with generous amounts of snow that look just like cupcake frosting. Nestled in some of the hills are what look like small villages, but in the far distance, just before the mountains, is a sight that confirms what I thought must be impossible. I let a gasp slip from my lips as I stare at it, beholding the sheer beauty and size of it. I jog to catch up with the boy, still staring at it, and ask him, excitement tingling in my breath, "Is... Is that-"

He grins at me, blinding me once again with his oh-so-perfect teeth. "Yeah."

I can barely believe the words as they wriggle from my grasp, there is no way, I think, as I breathe softly, "A castle"


	4. Twinkle Twinkle Little Shit

_**"When space exploration ramps up, it'll be the corporations that name everything. The IBM Stellar Sphere. The Microsoft Galaxy. Planet Starbucks."**_

I will say one thing, it is definitely different than I imagined castles to be. Not that I've spend a lot of time imagining castles, but it's not at all like the ones I studied for the medieval unit in my world history class (which I subsequently got a D in, fuck you, Mrs. Bloomfield, my homemade catapult didn't do that much damage to your classroom). It reminds me a little of the one from that movie I always liked as a kid, the Neverending Story or something. It's an all white behemoth of marble from what I can see, veins spidering through the stone and nesting there in certain concentrated spots of quartz that almost seem to glow in the sun. It stretches up into spires the and on points sharp enough to impale a man, and I'm starting to wonder if safety was even thought of when designing it, because it pricks me just to look at. The grounds around it are lightly peppered with trees, but something about them is off, just like god knows everything is in this place. It's like you come home from vacation and someone has shifted all of the furniture exactly two inches to the left. Something, everything, isn't right. The grass is too green. The sky is too blue.

I stumble back a little, overwhelmed by the sudden awareness. The brown haired boy instinctively reaches forward to catch me, but I stagger a little too wildly and end up on my knees in the grass. The emerald green grass that shines a little too much against the sun, and it drips suspicion that seeps into my clothes. Nothing is right. I bend down a little more, pressing my face close to the ground to see, and another impossible thought pops into my head. Slowly, my hand shaking slightly, I reach into the field and pluck a single perfect blade of grass. And another. And another. All exactly identical, tapered to a tip and glossed over with shine. I raise my head to stare up at the boy, but he offers me no answers, only his hand to pull me to my feet, fingers long and thin like the rest of him. Hesitating slightly, I take it, and he pulls me to my feet with surprising strength. I look at him a little, and I realize that he, too, is perfectly symmetrical. Something is very wrong.

Taking a deep breath, I pause for a moment and lift my eyes to meet his. The questions is on my lips, I just need to muster the courage to ask it. After a few seconds, I exhale and let it slip, accidentally mumbling a little. The words end up slurred and mangled, and he looks at me with confusion drawn on his face.

"Pardon?" He asks, eyebrows raised and curiosity in his eyes.

"Your name," I mumble again, "you still haven't told me your name."

He hesitates, his lips thinning, and he cast his eyes down a little, frowning at the grass and its gloss.

"I'm not really allowed to tell you that. I'm sorry, Phil."

"That's not fair!" I protest, "You know my name, I ought to know yours. It's a fair trade."

He looks only sympathetic as he turns to me to say some bullshit apology, but I cut him off, "-Please. Please, I need to know that you're not like everything else here. I need to know that you're not fake."

His gaze softens a little, and he sighs slightly, biting his lip. Even as he opens his mouth to speak, he seems conflicted.

"Listen, you can't tell anyone that I said this, but my name- my name's T-"

He cuts himself off, placing a hand over his delicate lips, still parted as the half formed word tries to force itself out. He turns to see if anyone's watching, and looks back at me.

"I can't. Come on, we have to get you to the castle." He says curtly, sighing starting to walk away from me again, his hand dropping from his mouth to swing at his side. He doesn't turn back to look at me.

I jog after him in his wake, miffed and filled with curiosity, "Come on, you can't just leave me like that! Tony? Travis? Tay?"

All I see is his back as he continues to walk away from me, not even checking to see if I'll follow. I suppose he knows that I will; What other choice do I have? I sprint a little to catch up, and we walk side by side for a time, tense eyes, tense lips, and tense air. The atmosphere stiffens around us.

Disappointment floods my chest as we pace, like it's slipping into my lungs through my heart, occupying every hollow cavity I possess and drowning me. I wrap my jacket a little tighter and put up my hood. It's only a few moments later when he frowns at me, thin eyebrows drawing together, and says, "Stop that."

I raise my eyebrows, surprised, and say, "Stop what? What am I doing?"

Quietly, he slows to a stop and breathes, "Be careful. Don't move."

I stop, wary of what is to come, and exhale slowly, trying to move as little as possible.

"Think happy thoughts."

"What?"

"Think. Happy. Thoughts."

I decided that I don't really have enough slack to ignore him, so I try to do what he says, regardless of how crazy it sounds. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.

I dig around in my head, looking for at least one pleasant memory, but I end up barehanded. All of my memories are muted, like I've lived my entire life behind fifty feet of glass and only now am I about to jump into the commotion. Like trying to hurdle a moving train. I've been sad, yes, and I've been not-sad, but I only really have one memory that I truly remember as being happy. Everything else is numb, and I hone in upon it.

It was one of the coldest days of the year. Snow drizzled down in flakes and plastered itself to the windows of your car, slipping away into water and mist. Your particular window had frosted over on the edges, and the motor has frozen over, making it nearly impossible to close. A cool breeze creeps in and settles beneath your clothes, spiking a delicious chill down your spine. You poke your head outside, feeling snowflakes on your tongue, and stare out at the lights as your car slows to a stop. It's like one of those enormous drive in movies that was popular when your parents were teenagers.

Everyone is parked along the street, and bright lights flicker as the first float begins to glide towards you. It's got great confetti sprinklers and illuminates the ground around it, it's so bright. The second one follows, similar in size and demeanor, and then, trailing behind it, the third float drifts. It's all dark, black and white against the snow to the sides, and a group of five people sit, left foot crossed on their right leg, heads down. At the front is a handsome young man in a banned black and silver military jacket, dark eyes cast down as he and everyone else on the float continue to move. His hair matches the stripes on his jacket, cut short and so platinum it almost reflects in the light. Close beside him sits another man holding a pale guitar, who can't be older than twenty three or so, dressed in the same attire. He has dark dyed hair and the same downcast eyes, a lip ring circling his fragile mouth. To the back of the float, a curly haired man sits at the stool of his drum set, looking down like everyone else, and wearing the same jacket. Finally, two more, blond and dark haired stand holding a bass guitar and an ordinary one. It's quiet except for the other floats, and they stay where they are, heads down and waiting for something. They're all so young.

After a few more seconds, a single note plays, and they look up, drawing breath and preparing, the guitarist running his fingers up and down the strings and exhaling slowly. The silver haired lead singer closes his eyes briefly. He opens them and looks around into the crowd, his eyes fixing gently on you. This moment will stay with you forever.

The atmosphere seems to relax, deflating a little and not so high strung. I hear a sigh of relief come from my left, and the boy shakes his head, curly hair bouncing slightly with the movement. He nods with satisfaction, smiling faintly, "That's a nice one."

I turn to look at him, slightly confused, "What was that about? Why did you tell me to think about that? Why-"

He just looks at me, shaking his head, "I can't really tell you. That, or anything, you'll figure it out sooner or later."

I groan, frustrated,"Then make it sooner, not later! Please, tell me."

He turns away, and continues walking, his restraint showing in his eyes, but he only needs to walk a few steps, because without me noticing, we've gotten almost to the front of the castle.

Sure enough, I move my gaze upwards, and it takes me a few moments to process, because standing in front of me is an enormous engineering masterpiece of white marble, the gate of which we are standing directly in front of.

He breathes out slightly, like he's preparing for something.

"Here we go."


	5. A Symphony Of Fucks I Give

The gate is just like you'd imagine a medieval castle gate, but it's not made of iron, or steel, or any metal at all. It's almost clear, like it was wrought of glass, sharp enough to slice a leaf of paper in half. Guards stand on either side of it, wearing traditional suits of armor, like actual knight-kind armor. The boy (for lack of a better name to call him) strides up to the one on the right, and it flips its visor up to speak to him.

After a few brief exchanges, he turns to me and gestures for me to follow as the gate slowly slides up, allowing entryway. Wincing as I think about what would happen if whatever was holding the razor sharp tips of the gate just feet above my head broke, I slowly walk after him, glancing around nervously. As I'm directly underneath the gate, I look right at the knight, visor still up on top of his helm. I squint to look at his face, and my breath hitches as my eyes find his. Or rather, don't.

There's nothing there. Inside of the suit of armor is absolutely nothing... No, less than nothing. There's definitely something there, but... It's like the dark is shifting around inside, trying to get a good look at me. It's almost as if its sifting through my personality, reaching in through my eyes and trying to figure me out. I stare at it a little, wondering if it can read my thoughts, and I incline my head in greeting. It doesn't do anything, it just tilts its helmet a little to the right, looking me up and down quizzically.

Suddenly, the boy doubles back from a few paces ahead of me, and quickly grabs my arm, breaking my gaze with the suit of armor. My eyes still wide, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and I turn to look at him, a half form question on my lips. He shakes his head before I can even speak with a sharp, "Come on, no questions. We talked about this. Anyways, follow me."

As usual, he continues on without me, and I mumble under my breath, "We never agreed on anything..."

I'm trying to come up with a nickname, because I can't keep referring to him as 'the boy' forever, and I decide just to call him T, like the letter. You know, Tee? Not a bad name, I think, and it suits him, kinda. I think about this as he turns to glance at me, symmetrical face catching angles in the sunlight, and we walk through the courtyard together.

It's beautiful, with trimmed topiary lining the walls and protruding from the pristine grass. The paths beneath our feet are shining black marble, etched with silver designs that have been inlayed and polished to perfection. A particularly gorgeous mosaic catches my eye, as T steps over it, leather boots brushing the ground. A tall, slender man with neatly trimmed dark hair stands with his arm around a lovely woman, who's silky silver hair has been braided and accessorized with a variety of flowers that match her brilliant blue eyes. The man is clean shaven, with high cheekbones, shrouded eyes, and a sharp jawline. He's dressed in a formal suit, slim and tailored to his slight figure. His other hand rests on the shoulder of a boy, probably around fifteen, I'd guess. If he's the man's son, he certainly bears some resemblance, as he has the same dark brown hair and thin physique. His figures are more delicate though, and his eyes are a little brighter, less downcast. His cheeks are fuller than his father's, and his jawline is softer. I pause from walking for a moment, tapping T to slow down a little.

I look up at him, and say, "Look, I know you said no questions, but who-"

He shakes his head but surprises me by answering immediately, "That's the king, we're about to meet him a little further inside, and that woman, she's the queen. You'll like her, I think."

I raise my eyebrows, "The king, hm? I feel so privileged. And that boy, who's he?"

T smiles faintly, "That's the crown prince, but he's older now. This mosaic is a tad out of date, but he looks the same, more or less, I mean you'd be able to recognize him if you see him. In fact, I think we will be seeing him soon, he's just returned from Overworld with his mother."

I furrow my brow, Overworld? I'm not the cynical type, I mean, I believe in aliens and everything, but Overworld? It sounds like something straight out of a fantasy novel, and to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if, at some point during this wildly out-of-place adventure, we bump into a disgruntled Legolas. I know that whenever someone says this, everything gets stranger, but at the moment I can't really imagine anything stranger than what's occurring right now.

T stops in front of an enormous set of doors, white marble like the rest of the castle, but accented with gold, and what looks like it could be jade. An enormous black stallion is carved into it, rearing on powerful hind legs. The door splits it in half, just behind the mane that's entirely golden, flowing behind it as it bucks. Its hooves and eyes are also golden, as well as its tail, but the rest of it is entirely ebony, shining against the sun. It looks just like everything else in this weird-ass world, of course, and it's just a little too thin, the faint outline of ribs showing through thick polished skin. Its legs are too slim, and it seems almost emaciated, but at the same time, strong and able.

T closes his eyes, thin veins crossing his eyelids, and takes a deep breath. Intently focused, he exhales, and the door swings open on gargantuan brass hinges, splitting the stallion in half. As we walk through, I stare at the sides of the door, thick, and find that the insides of the split horse have been carved as well. I catch a glimpse of a rib cage and a heart, among other internal organs. Turning to my right, I see the other side, the rear end of the horse, and what looks like intestines carved into the edge of the door. I wince at the gruesome sight, and turn to follow T inside inside.

Oh

I let my breath fall, it almost feels like I don't need it as I step through a curved stone arch. It's like one of those enormous cathedrals that you see in calendars, the ceiling is at least thirty feet high, and pristine white corinthian pillars stretch up from all around me. The entire room is round, and at the top is an enormous dome, with a skylight at the top. On the dome is a series of carvings, rich patterns that trace around the interior and reach to the top. Light is spilling through the skylight like honey, dripping down to illuminate the floor that's decorated with the same sort of expensive looking stone ornamentation, polished to a glorious sheen.

I suddenly feel out of place and underdressed as I stumble on the shining floor, plain sneakers leaving cringeworthy marks and squeak on the floor, as opposed to T's soft leather shoes that pad softly on stone. He leads me down one of the seven identical passageways extending from the entrance dome. These, too, are lavishly decorated, with delicate tables and silk furniture scattered occasionally in the hall.

I'm really starting to wish that I'd wiped my feet, at least, before entering, but there's nothing to be done about that now. T strides ahead of me, and, around twenty feet from a bend in the passage, turns to speak to me.

With a practical manner, he begins to instruct me, "Now, we're about to enter the throne room, just past that bend there, and I know you're not from around here, but just listen to me, alright? Follow my lead, bow when you see them."

"Them?" I ask.

"Yes, them, the royal family, the king, the queen, and the crown prince."

"Oh."

He bites his lip, "Right, don't look away from them when they're speaking to you, and be more or less polite in everything you do. Stand up straight, come on, don't slouch. Preferably, don't speak unless spoken to, basic manners. Imagine you're meeting your girlfriend's parents."

"Boyfriend's."

He frowns at me, "Boyfriend's?"

"Yeah," I say, "boyfriend's parents. Not girlfriend's."

"Ah," he says, "alright, well, still just... just, be polite, alright?"

I nod, straightening my collar and letting my arms fall to my sides, trying to make my shoes squeak as little as possible. This is certifiably insane, all of it. I'm about to meet a fucking royal family, and I have no idea where I am, at all. Fuck.

I shake my head, trying to clear it before meeting them, and we make the turn, opening into another broad cathedral-ish room. Three ornate golden thrones sit upon a raised platform, decorated with expensive looking gems. A silk red carpet stretches up the steps to the royals, and above them hangs a intricate painting of that same black stallion. I think it must be their symbol, their sigil or something, but I don't say anything, trying to mirror T in everything he does so that I don't offend anyone.

Sitting in the thrones are the people from the mosaic, in the center on the largest is the tall handsome man with dark hair, an elaborate white crown sitting upon his head. His delicate features catch the light, and he break conversation from his beautiful wife to turn to me. On his left is the boy, the prince, who has his hands folded in his lap, dark hair swept slightly over his eyes, wearing a pale crown similar to his father's. He lifts his head to look at me as well, and his mother, the queen, sweeps her silvery hair over her shoulder. All of them are looking at me, and I can feel their eyes flitting over me, drinking in my appearance. I wish I'd worn a better shirt when I'd died.

The king takes a breath, and opens his mouth to greet me, an amused smile on his face.

"Welcome, Philip, to Hell."

 **Aight I think this was a pretty nice chapter ? idk maybe it was crap but I still like it,, anyways I'll update Pretty Boy soon but keep reading this please? it's my personal favorite, this fic is my baby okay**

 **love u all**

 **xojon**


	6. An Appreciation Of Ornate Chamber Pots

**Hey so I think now might be a good time to mention that this same fic is also published on wattpad under username Probablydanhowell as To Hell And Back.**

I need a moment to process it all, it's too real and strange and undeniably bizarre. My mouth gapes open as I struggle for words, still looking at the king (who bears a bemused expression of patience), and eventually manage to push out an admittedly less-than-formal response.

"What the fuck?"

A blindingly painful stomp on the foot from T brings me back to my senses, and I stutter in an attempt to apologize, cringing at the obvious discourteousness of my words, "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I didn't want to be rude or anything just-"

At last, I notice the lack of response, and wince as I open my eyes to see the king, a tiny smile etched into his features. He still looks entirely forbidding, but after a few brief moments, he begins to titter, laughing quietly. A few more seconds, and he's doubled over with laughter, eyes crinkling at the sides in familiar lines. The dark cloak he wears ripples as he continues to chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he does. I stand still, unsure whether to smile or frown, unsure of what to do at all.

In fact, I appear to have filled the entire family with mirth, as the queen has placed a slim jewel-clad hand over her mouth to mask a most un-queenly snort of hilarity. Even the young prince's cheeks are a tad more flushed than his usual pale complexion, and laughter glints in his eyes as a small, shy smile spreads his face.

For a few moments, the air is filled only with monarchical laughter, the king leaning down to ease on the armrest to draw breath. After a little while, he draws back to whisper to the queen among still-prevalent laughter, just quiet enough that I can't quite hear him.

Some few short seconds of muffled muttering later, he turns to me, eyes still glinting with humor, and says, "You really needn't look so terrified, you know. It's alright, we'll explain, all will make sense in due time."

I scowl. I always hate the parts in movies when the main character is constantly denied information for no particular reason. Bullshit, really, but I hide my annoyance with a quick, awkward bow, remembering my courtesies in front of someone who was no less than a monarch. Smiling, I say, "Thank you, your grace."

After a while, he realizes that I have morning to say on the matter and signals T to take me out of the room.  
"Sivan," he says, "take Phil to his chambers, won't you?"

T nods curtly and bows, taking my arm and gently tugging me back into the hallway. As soon as we're out of earshot, I turn on him.

"What was that about?"

I really ought to have realized that by now there's no point in trying to get answers from him. All he does is tell me the usual "oh no, I can't tell you that" shit, and continues to lead me down a set of passageways.

After a while, I start to wonder if I'll ever be able to find my way out of this labyrinth-like castle by myself. Frowning, I tap T's shoulder to get his attention.

"Hey, he called you Sivan, didn't he?"

He mumbles something of recognition at the name, and says, "Yeah, that's, um-"

He fumbles with his words for the first time I can remember, "last name." he concludes.

"Ah."

There's not much to say to each other, and by the looks of it, we've almost reached my 'chambers' (terminology a bit fancier than I'm accustomed to), so we spend the rest of the walk in silence.

We finally reach the door of my room, enormous and beautifully carved mahogany, sharing the same intricate details as the rest of the castle. A silver door handle is set into it, which T politely pulls and holds open for me. He gives me a brief nod as I pass by him, before releasing it and disappearing rather suddenly down the corridor again.

While everyone around here seems to lack basic knowledge of what to say to someone who's just died, they certainly know how to treat their guests. The chambers are undeniably spacious, a lavish king sized bed flanked by two velvet ottomans and a dresser at its foot.

A small marble archway leads into what must be the bathroom, and a fragrant aroma of rose petals drifts from inside it. Polished white tile makes up most of the room, with a deep bathtub set into the floor on the right side of it. The his and her (his and his?) vanity sets have basins made of what must be crystal, and an admittedly impressive chamber pot sits to the left.

The last room in the suite is a closet filled with an array of strange clothes, similar to the ones T and the Royal family were wearing. Fine silk, all of it must be, and it's slippery smooth to the touch. In the main part of the chambers, the 'bedroom', a simple but elegant wooden desk sits upon slender clawed golden legs. Parchment paper and what looks like a quill and some ink (something I find deeply uncomfortable because of its sheer outdatedness) are tucked away in a drawer, and a crystal oil lamp sits on top of the desk.

I exhale, taking in the impossible bizarre circumstance I've gotten myself in, and find it difficult to comprehend at all. There's really no point in attempting to understand any of it, at least not until someone decides to tell me what's going on, an unlikely occasion if I ever-

I straighten, standing from the ottoman I'd been resting on. Squinting slightly as I approach the door, I strain my ears. Sure enough, another quiet knock comes through the door, and I open it almost immediately, anxious for T to bring me some news, information, anything.

To my surprise, it's not T who stands beyond the door, but the crown prince, dark eyes cast down on something he twirls in his hands. He draws a little breath as he sees me, evidently not expecting his knocks to be answered so soon. I open the door fully, a silent invitation to come inside, and he steps through it, eyes still nervous, fluttering from place to place.

He speaks quietly, but his words are clear and soft, "I brought you something."

Taken aback, I can't help but inhale sharply as he extends his gift to me. An exquisitely cut crystal rose, blood red and jeweled with a golden stem lays in his hand, glinting in the light coming through my window. Astonished, I carefully take it, turning it in my fingers and admiring the way it shines in every angle, the polished gold of the stem smooth and soft to touch.

He lifts his eyes to me, "A gift, I thought... As compensation for the... difficulties you must be facing. Death is not an easy thing, the first time."

My eyebrows draw together as I frown, "The first time?"

He quickly corrects himself, "No, I didn't mean- Pardon, I spoke wrongly, I just meant that it's a difficult process to go through. This should be the only time for you, I think."

At this point, I'm starting to be one legitimately concerned, "The only time? Wait, no, hold on- did you say that I'm... dead?"

He almost nods slightly before shaking his head, correcting himself, "Well, not quite, it's actually very complicated... It's alright, you'll understand eventually, you'll-"

"I don't want to understand eventually, I'd really like to know what's happening now! How come no one will tell me anything?"

I turn, crossing to the desk, "Look at all of this stuff, you're happy to provide me with all of these fucking luxuries but I'm not allowed to know what's even happening? Has it been so long since you've had guests that you've forgotten- Oh..."

My eyes catch on the prince, and his eyes are lowered to the floor, teeth pressing into his delicate lower lip as he bites it. His fingers are folded together and he seems to be gathering himself to say something. It takes me a moment to realize it, but after a few seconds I become aware that he couldn't possibly be responsible for how his parents were treating me.

I walk back to the door, softening my time, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to shout, it's not your fault or anything, I just-"

He stirs, seemingly collecting himself, and sighs, looking up at me, "No, it's fine, it's alright, I- I need to go, my parents are waiting, I should really- I need to go."

I nod, still feeling guilty about how I shouted; There's no way that he could have done anything, or maybe he wasn't even allowed to tell me anything.

A thought strikes me, and I open the door, lucky to see him just before he turns the corner of my corridor.

"Your grace!" I say, as he's about to disappear. He turns back from the corner to look at me, and I say, "Thank you. For the flower, it's... It's a lovely gift."

He smiles faintly at me before turning and continuing on his path, leaving me standing out on the hallway, the soft light from flickering wall torches brushing across my surroundings.

-  
 **grace/koi/whatever please remove all of my stories from your library and unadd me thnks pls fuck off**

 **hey guys so um how was your christmas? i've had a kinda shit christmas and lost a lot of friends but thats okay I guess**

 **Anyways this story is my baby and I love it so like and comment and all of that shit**

 **Also I promise I'll update pretty boy soon I'm sorry for hiding**

 **Love you guys ❤️**


End file.
